


Ground Control to Major Tom (Can You Hear Me, Agent Barge?)

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Denial, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Hallucinogens, Mission Fic, Obsessive Behavior, Outer Space, Paranoia, Psychological Trauma, Squick, Suspense, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Violence, Vomiting, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: With her crew in the control room, Captain Barge waits with bated breath for the return of her second-in-command from Fath 703. What he brings back ruins everything.
Relationships: Chloe Barge/Bobby Zilch
Kudos: 3





	Ground Control to Major Tom (Can You Hear Me, Agent Barge?)

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween!!
> 
> i had this idea rolling around in my head since august, but as halloween came closer, i decided to have it be more suspenseful. please take the content warnings seriously since there are some parts that may squick viewers out (nothing sexual or overly violent of course, but there are some sections that may be upsetting to read). i tried to handle all of the subjects touched upon in this fic with care and consideration. there is some language bobby and chloe use that might be upsetting for some readers (no slurs or hateful language, though, just denial of perception). 
> 
> title from space oddity! comments appreciated since i'm really proud of this fic. it took all of my willpower to not slap this fic with a happy all loose ends tied up conclusion because it would not suit the story's tone. 
> 
> anyway, i hope you all enjoy!

Before Chloe was an array of buttons flashing dim green and red hues. Her fingers raced along them, her nose to the grindstone as she punched in combinations of letters and numbers into the holographic monitor hovering a foot away from her. She waved her hand and sorted through hieroglyphic screens, each with a unique profile for various species on nearby planets, ignoring the idle chatter of her subordinates at their stations.

She paused on a screen containing information on the Fathians. They were hulking, sickly blue aliens with thick, hairy tumors on their heads and a penchant for conquest even among their own kind. Her crew's latest mission involved brokering a peace treaty between them and the Zwicklians. Although it had been arduous, at times dipping into firefights between her sharpshooter and the Fathians' aircrafts, she was thankful to have a Fathian on her side, one who had taken her advice to heart and was currently on his home planet to finalize negotiations.

Chloe dismissed the screen and set her hands on the various keyboards ingrained in the metallic motherboard. Her station was the largest and slimmest, with documents and research alphabetized within trays and long drawers fanning out from the sides. It was splashed with hints of color, shades of soft yellows and reds contrasting with the metallic exterior. They brought out the vibrancy of the buttons on her station, which in comparison to the gray workstations of her fellow space voyagers, pleased her eyes.

The control room was also to her liking. A padded, silver and red rug stretched across the perimeter. The yellow and orange checkerboard walls were made of the smoothest, strongest metals known to alienkind. Lockers were embedded into the walls, each reserved for specific members. Panels flickered with life with information on other planets. On one of them, Chloe noticed a winged amphibian creature fly into a nearly white sky, its baby swaddled in leaves and linens. The room was fresh with an air purifier pumping in oxygen and faintly floral scents every few minutes, an addition Chloe installed only yesterday when she smelled an odd, chemical stench permeating in the corners. None of her associates, however, minded.

Reclining in a deep rouge chair, she took the high ground over her teammates. JT, her sharpshooter, was busy polishing his dual ray guns. He tipped back his ten gallon hat and raised one of them to the light above his head. He rotated his wrist, checking every angle. Seemingly satisfied, he set it aside and took a cloth to clean the other one.

To her left was Mikhail inspecting maps of star systems on his tablet. Occasionally, he traced circles around planets in need of their aid. He stroked his pointed chin, focusing on smaller constellations where life had only just begun to flourish. Writing a few notes to himself, he continued his work in silence.

Looking over her shoulder, Chloe spotted Milka and Lili conversing. Milka nodded along to whatever it was Lili was saying. Her attention was fixed on the potted plant Lili held with its lush, striped bubblegum pink petals. Lili quickly shook her hand when Milka leaned forward to sniff it, quickly adding that the azure, thorny stem was the lone indication the foreign plant was poisonous.

“One sniff, and you might die,” she said, and Milka grimaced.

“You should've said that sooner. Maybe don't parade that thing around,” she retorted, crossing her arms.

Lili rolled her eyes. “Hey, you said you wanted to see it.”

“Yeah, but you didn't tell me it was poisonous.”

“Well, I was getting to that. You were impatient enough to stick your nose in-”

“Let's not fight. We have to be alert in case he returns,” Chloe called, turning away from them.

Acquiescence was given. She listened to Lili enter a code for the sliding doors and left for her quarters to investigate the new fauna. The door slamming shut, Milka groaned and dragged her feet back to her station below Chloe. She brought her wrist communicator to her mouth and mumbled a memo in a soft voice reserved only for her beloved, but Chloe managed to hear one familiar word: hoe.

Patience was a virtue, and Chloe had plenty of it. She trusted her second-in-command would return with good news and break the monotony of waiting. The itch to explore new constellations and galaxies burned within her, but she stifled it by closing her eyes. Focusing on the mission was imperative; the Zwicklians needed them in their time of near annihilation.

While Milka went over to Mikhail to inspect one of his maps, Chloe glanced down at her jumpsuit. It was slightly baggy on her shorter frame, but she preferred the looseness. She fiddled with a zipper by her thigh, opening and closing it, the gesture entirely mindless.

Pulling her hand away, she jerked back. Where the zipper should have been was a crusty, jagged line running across her skin. It scabbed over, brick red in hue, but when she blinked, it was gone, replaced with the zipper glinting under the light.

“Captain, y'all okay?” JT asked. He took off his hat and set it by his ray guns. “Looks like ya saw a ghost.”

She twitched her head from to side. “Your concern is appreciated,” she said, Mikhail and Milka eyeing her, “but I’m fine.”

“Should rest, captain,” Mikhail said. “We have been waiting for him to return, but no luck. Should not have to force yourself to stay awake for him.”

“Negative. I'm sure he's going to come back today,” Chloe replied.

“Unless the Fathians killed him,” Milka remarked, JT sucking in a breath.

“Sakes alive. Wouldn't that be a shame?” he wondered, and Chloe dug her nails into her seat. “But I reckon that ain't the truth. He's one o' them. He can prob'ly handle himself 'round their ilk.”

Mikhail hummed, appearing to ponder his assertion before shrugging. “Perhaps. It could possibly be an even match.” He handed Milka his tablet. “Would pay good money to see a proper fight between him and savage king of Fathians.”

“Even if he's a Fathian, that king would eat him alive. He does have that three-pronged claw,” Milka added, swiping to the left.

Chloe was unsure why her throat dried. She traced her fingers along her zipper, the smoothness turning coarse. She checked her thigh and only saw her jumpsuit, the zipper still shining.

“Regardless,” Chloe began, standing up from her spot as the doors opened behind her, “we shouldn't dwell on that. In case he does fail, then we must think of alternatives to protect the Zwicklians. If not, the Greater Galactic Community will have no choice but to intervene.”

“And the Fathians would gladly wage war on all of us,” Lili said, heels clicking as she came closer to Chloe. Without her plant, she put her hands on her hips and directed her attention to the fireproof window leading to the stars. “And I don't think this universe would survive.”

Chloe followed with a slow nod. They all stared at the twinkling stars and dashing comets in the distance. Inky blackness expanded as far as they could see. She was never tired of it. Even if it appeared similar to anyone else, for Chloe, the cosmos was infinite, always changing with rich, new adventures around every corner.

She was home, she told herself, she was home.

Chloe approached the window, allowing the others to toss solutions back and forth. She pressed her hands to the protective pane and marveled at the planet below. The crimson world burning like a sunflare, ripe with explosions, was Fath 703. It was his world, a place she had always wanted to visit. Even if he had declared his planet was always on the cusp of devastation, delight swelled within her for finally arriving at his home, wanting to venture down and take in the sights no matter how deadly.

But the sliding doors slamming open with enough force to jostle the control room pushed her out of her thoughts. A yelp gagged in her throat. Closing her eyes, she stumbled, her face pressing against something abrasive enough to make her chin ache. She wiped her mouth, unnerved by the sensation, but when she regained her footing, her eyes widened.

Bobby panted, hunching forward and gripping the doorframe. He sucked in deep breaths, eyes unfocused. His chest heaved, sweat beading his brow and leaking down. He dragged his sleeve across his face, wiping away most of it, but a new sheen replaced the old droplets. One shaky step after another, he ambled into the control room, his gait uneven, with his right knee knocking into his left.

“Bobby!” Chloe cried, the others equally aghast.

It seemed her voice stunned him. He raised his head and looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Chapped lips parted, and no sound emerged. He managed to straighten himself, a short coughing fit making his chest spasm, but Bobby squared his shoulders and gazed at her with dilated pupils.

“Chloe,” he croaked out, his voice cracking on the last vowel. His mouth quirked into a grin, and he laughed to himself, a soft, subtle noise that stimulated ringing in her ears.

She surveyed his attire. His jumpsuit was torn in various places. Patches of frayed fabric hung from his sleeves, chest, and stomach. A backpack was slung across one shoulder, the other strap burned beyond recognition.

“What did the Fathians do to you?” she shouted, hurrying to his side.

But his expression slowed her steps. He blinked at her, confusion replacing relief. He glanced around the control room, worrying Chloe, as he made no attempt to acknowledge the others even when they started asking questions.

“Did somethin' happen to his hearing? It ain't like him to stay quiet for too long,” JT pondered, loitering behind Chloe.

“Maybe an explosive destroyed his eardrums,” Lili suggested, voice slightly pitched. “They are having a war down there, I mean, when aren't they? So, what, were you caught in some kind of strike, Bobby?”

“Am more concerned with his body. Clearly, he is hurt,” Mikhail said, touching Chloe's shoulder and standing to her side. “What happened to you, Bobby? A Fathian attack? Ambush? Or...?”

Bobby paid them no mind. Instead, he watched her look between their compatriots. Slowly, he set two fingers to his temple. Twisting his head, he uttered a low, droning hum. His fingers slipped down his cheek, but he set them again, his elbow twitching with the effort.

“We have to take him to the medical bay,” Chloe ordered, one of her many Cygnan hearts beating faster as she watched his left side droop. “This is clearly something that is-”

“Wait, Chloe,” Bobby blurted, erecting himself upright. He choked on a whimper and grabbed his arm, the bones popping.

“You're not well,” Milka said, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should have Mikhail strap him down and-”

“I need Chloe,” he said, and he shook his head, the baffled countenances of the others forcing him to fix his wording. “I mean, I-I gotta-gotta talk to her, yeah, talk to her.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “Alone.”

Immediate disapproval fired from the others. Mikhail shook his head and agreed with Milka. JT offered his help, but even as they approached him, Bobby focused on Chloe. She steadied her gaze, expression frozen in bewilderment, pursed lips and all. He dragged a shaky finger to the door behind him, asking again if she would come with him even when Lili shouted that he needed help.

He would not refuse any order Chloe gave. They both knew that. It was something he still needed to work on as her second-in-command. The ringing in her ears subsided for a moment as Mikhail reached for Bobby's arm, and she stepped back to her control panel, telling the others to leave the room.

“Are you sure?” Milka questioned, arms behind her back.

“Yes. I know what I'm doing. Give us some time alone,” Chloe ordered, fiddling with a few settings on her screens, “and return in a half hour.” She peered over her shoulder at Bobby, the gratitude shining in his eyes making her stomach churn.

Lili flicked her eyes between Bobby and Chloe and shrugged. “Well, captain, we'll be around if you need us.”

With that, the others followed Lili out to the sliding doors. Chloe waited until they left, JT casting one last look at her before the doors granted them their privacy. Only the various buzzing of the lights above their heads and Bobby's heavy breathing filled the silence, Chloe's skin beginning to crawl at the way he leered at her.

“With what I'm seeing, it's logical to assert that you're incapacited,” Chloe said. She gestured at the opposing chair, the spot where he normally sat next to her when commandeering the spaceship. “Have a seat. We’ll talk.”

Bobby limped towards her. He hesitated next to the chair and shook his head. “I'll...I'll stand,” he said, tone wavering.

“But you're hurt,” she insisted, frowning.

“Really, I'm good.” He raised his hands. “We just...well, I mean...”

He trailed off, uncertainty wafting off him like the smell he already exuded. Chloe's nose wrinkled, the stench hardly pleasant. She tried to identify it when he struggled to speak. There seemed to be a base scent, something metallic underneath a layer of heat that dampened the very air.

Before she could put a name to the odor, Bobby broke into a hacking fit. He cupped his mouth, eyes screwing tightly shut, bushy brows coming together in distress. He hunched forward, hands roaming his body, a sheen of liquid trailing down his face and neck, the collar of his jumpsuit darkening.

“Bobby! What's wrong?” she shouted, but he leaned back, gasping.

Panic filled his eyes like a gorbisan rodent in the path of a shuttle runway, or to use a common earth saying, a deer in headlights. He pinched his nose and cracked it, eliciting a shiver to race down her spine. A sliver of mucus threatened to slither out, but he snorted it back, and Chloe tried ignoring her skin prickling.

He crossed his arms over his chest, forcing his back to remain straight. “We have to leave,” he announced, his words sharp enough to cut.

“What?” she breathed out, her legs involuntarily kicking. She thrust herself out of her chair, her head beginning ache at their closeness. She stepped to the side, giving herself some needed distance. Wondering why he looked crestfallen when all she had done was move by a yard, Chloe fiddled with her collar.

“I know, I mean-” He coughed again, saliva wetting his lips. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath and gripped his chest, veins budding in his brow.

“You're not well. You're hurt.” The words hurried out of her mouth. She reached again, but the ringing in her ears returned, a keening wail which made her wince all over.

Bobby licked his lips and dried them on the back of his hand. He dropped his fingers from his temple, a meek groan following his arm as it slapped into his side. He clutched his knees, back arching at an angle which would have made his spine more prominent.

Raising his head, Bobby said, “Listen, I don't have a lot of time-agh!” His expression twisted again, veins skewering down the sides of his eyes. “Shit!” He smashed his fist into his knee, the impact bouncing off the walls, and Chloe forgot how to breath.

He swallowed, and whatever was rolling in his mouth, repulsed her. Chloe squared her shoulders and assessed the situation. He was clearly in agony. Whatever plagued him must have been affecting his rationality. 

Bobby was her second-in-command for as long as she could remember. She had entrusted the Fathian mission to him. She needed to impart that reminder to him, hoping the memory would jar him out of his stupor.

“Bobby,” she gently said, bending down to his level, “I need you to look at me.”

“We gotta go,” he crooned, his throat bulging and head twitching. He cupped his chin and tilted his jaw up, gulping again in the way that made Chloe's insides squirm. Jolting himself up, he grabbed his arm and pushed his hand out to her, desperation making his smile thin. “Just, uh, c'mon. We gotta go. We gotta go now. It's not gonna hold-”

“Hold? Hold what?” she interjected, keeping her distance. When he advanced on her, she took a two steps backwards and tethered herself in place. She gripped her elbows and dug in her fingernails like a prey animal burrowing into the ground.

Distress etched into his condition. One hand groped his backpack, and the other weakly pawed the air between them. He heaved out another breath, her nose twitching at the sudden metallic stench. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and squinted, blinking periodically as if something had gotten in them.

He was not acting normal. He needed her, but in a way that he could not understand. Something vexed him, which made her many hearts flutter. It reminded her of when they were children at the academy. She was aware of the full extent of his many issues, several of which impaired his behavior during crucial moments if pressed too far. Like a relapse, his malady had returned with the force of a black hole, sucking in his ability to reason and destroying any resemblance of him.

Taking a breath, she tried to hold it. She was careful not to ingest any of the odd, liquid particles dancing around her. They were like bits of floating dust, which strengthened her hypothesis of a physical ailment plaguing his mind and body, which had the potential of further contamination.

“The med-bay is just down the hall. You know as well as I do that Lili is a great surgeon. She'll help, and I'll be there like I always am,” Chloe soothed. She kept her hands to herself and gestured at the door on the right, which led down to the medical ward.

He waved his arms and stomped his foot like a child having a tantrum. Frustration pronounced the veins in his brow, one appearing to throb. “No! No, no! We can't! There's no way-! Goddammit.” He broke off with a whine and clutched his head, Chloe lifting her gaze only to find his once full hair matted to his skull, trailing down his back in long, knotted strings. It seemed to have a sheen of grease, reminding her of their childhood. He threaded his fingers through his hair. Viscid, pink liquid trickled down his palms when he shoved them at her. “Chloe, you gotta listen to me! This thing on my back isn't gonna la-last-isn't gonna laaast...”

Moaning, he crashed to his knees, Chloe gasping as the liquid raced down the sides of his sallow face. He clutched his stomach, the slightest of cramps tearing through his jumpsuit. Underneath was deep, forest green fabric, also singed and frayed, with gashes blooming like a rosebush.

“You're bleeding?” she whispered, bordering on howling.

Bobby squinted, blinking blood out of his eyes, his glasses fogging over. “Ni-nice of you to finally notice,” he spat as she drew near. He shook his head, dispelling his agitation and offered his hand. His voice softened, breaking with kindness in favor of urgency. “C'mere, we gotta go, gotta go now.”

Rationality evaded him. Leaving their spaceship without any protective suits? Abandoning their crew and the Zwicklians without an explanation? It was the plan of a madman suffering from blood loss and a hint of lunacy.

Still, he needed her. That much she understood, even if he refused to see the truth. Chloe held her breath, the overwhelmingly metallic stench forcing itself into her nostrils. The temptation to pinch them shut would have offended him, perhaps pushing him over the edge. She inched closer to him, watching his arm spasm, the muscles pulsing underneath sweaty, freckled skin,

But as soon as their fingertips touched, violet light pulsed in her vision. Ringing roared in her ears. Swirling color and crashing noise swarmed her thoughts, beating down any plan or refutation with its madness. She rushed back and clutched her head, vision tinted in dark hues crisscrossing and impeding her gait.

“Chloe!” he cried, but she twisted away from him, nearly smacking his wrist.

She stumbled towards JT's station. She clung to his rolling chair, dry-heaving as the colors returned to normal. Her brain ached, throbbing as the calming, warm colors of sunset yellow and orange returned to the walls. Her eyes fell on JT's ray guns, but she immediately dismissed the notion. She would never resort to violence, the very idea sickening her more than him.

Bobby hunched over again, brow wrinkling and eyes widening. He worked his jaw, and it clicked, the pin dropping in the room. He brushed against her workstation, calling out to her as his hands slickened with bodily fluids, his stench maligning the contents stirring in her two stomachs.

“Stay back!” she ordered, jabbing her finger at him. She counted ten paces between them, which was only five for Bobby with his long strides. Her eyes darted, ping-ponging between the door he wanted and the medical bay entrance.

Before she could further contemplate, Bobby clenched his teeth. His upper lip split and spilled blood across his front teeth. He dragged his tongue across the slimy liquid, his surprise as pure as hers.

“Please, please, I can't-” Bobby gagged and spat out a wad of deep pink saliva. His chest heaved in a hypnotically rhythmic fashion, up and down, up and down, and Chloe could not tear her gaze away. He snatched the collar of his jumpsuit, shredding it with an animalistic grunt, his agitation as palpable as the heat in the room.

He remained in his peculiar, forest green suit. He wore a sweater with the sleeves torn and burned and slacks with the seams sliced on his right pant leg, the visible blue skin dotted with moisture. Steel-toed boots were soaked in fluids, and Chloe did not want to know what liquids coated them.

“You're not well,” she said, a rare shudder across the vowels. “If you-if you just, I mean, the med-bay is right there. We can help. I want to help you.” Her lips trembled into a smile. “We can work on you a little.”

His head snapped upright. He stared at her and then through her. She knew the difference, the thousand-yard stare which pierced into her core. She tensed, her shoulders and spine feeling like they would break under the weight of his gaze.

Bobby raised a shaky hand and gripped his mouth. He coughed in it, phlegm and blood mixing in a sickening fusion. He massaged his stomach with his other hand, sinking his fingers into flesh that seemed to grow pinker by the second.

“'Work on me?' You wanna...you wanna work on me?” Bobby hissed, lip curling. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I want to help fix whatever is disconcerting you,” she reassured, dreading that she incensed his Fathian heritage.

“Well, you can help me by walking through the damn door and off this Enterprise ripoff so I can stop busting my ass and chops,” he barked, slipping off his backpack. He struggled with one of the zippers. It had somehow gotten stuck, and he cursed under his breath.

His insult pricked her like a bee sting. She arched her back and crossed her arms, frowning. Her spaceship had been carefully created under her supervision. He knew that, and yet, he boldly mocked her creation.

But she ignored her frustration in favor of assessing the situation. He was enraged for a reason she could not fathom. She wondered if the Fathians had tortured him in their chambers, where they also skewered wildlife and enjoyed gorging on gore. If they did something to him, then she would be certain they paid after he received proper treatment.

Unless, it was instinctual. Or worse, reverting into darker times.

“Bobby, listen to me,” she said, her spurring ignored as he continued jostling the zipper. “I believe that your people have done something terrible to you as evidenced by your physical condition.” She watched his jaw twitch, his molars seemingly grinding. “There is help that I can give you, but I need your cooperation.” She scoffed to herself as he shook the backpack, growling like a hyena. “Bobby, listen to me,” she entreated as he gnashed his front teeth around the zipper in a desperate attempt to pry it open. “You aren't acting like yourself!”

The backpack plunged into his arms. He stumbled backwards, reaching out for her, but he shoved his hand behind him. To her shock, a loud, slamming sound resounded in the still room, stupefying her reasoning.

Hitting a higher octave, she cried, “How did you-?”

“This isn't real!” he shrieked with enough force to nearly shatter the window protecting them from the cold, suctioning force of the galaxy.

Her hearts skipped several beats. Air stayed in her three sets of lungs, and each set refused to expand. Only he breathed, gasping out curt, ragged moans in-between whimpers. He steadied himself on something she could not see, unless he somehow fractured his ribs to make such an impactful clamor.

“There is no spaceship! There ain’t a crew! It's just me and you!” He groaned through clenched teeth. “Like it's always been on missions, but-but this time, you-”

“What in the known galaxies are you saying?” Chloe whispered, her smile uneven. Disbelief coated every word. “That is-that is impossible. I am the captain-”

“You're an agent! A Psychonaut like me!” Bobby bellowed, clutching his backpack to his chest. “And you went off on a mission by yourself when they needed me for a lockpicking job!”

“Y-you're not a lockpick. You're my second-in-command,” she replied. “With you at my side, all of us explore the cosmos and assist whoever we can.”

Heat painted a bashful luminosity on his face. It purpled his skin, a nice color in comparison to the blood seeping into his clothes. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which Chloe realized had small cracks in the lenses, he sighed.

“Sounds like a dream,” he murmured, glancing at her station. “And we go everywhere together?”

“Well, with our crew.”

“Right, right. They were also here.”

She sensed they had taken a step in the right direction. She still worried about approaching him, pain from grazing him still lapping like waves against her mind. Eyeing the backpack, she gnawed on the inside of her mouth when he tightened his grip on the zipper, and with a grunt, he failed to open it.

The backpack glowed with a faintly purple hue. With each pulse, her head throbbed. While she desired to investigate it, her health came first, something she had to learn through trial and error. Whatever was contained within Bobby's backpack seemed to warp her perspective. It twisted the interior of her spaceship in the same writhing violet shades, prompting the ringing in her head to scream like a banshee, jarring through her perseverance.

As Bobby struggled to open it, an idea hit her. She recalled he did not leave the spaceship with a backpack, so he must have received it on Fath 703. After acquiring the backpack, it must have been controlling Bobby, causing him to lash out enough to ignore necessary medical aid in favor of mutual destruction.

It craved her, too, What waited within chilled her to the bone. She theorized any notion that came to mind, some which she could not disavow despite her best intentions.

If, despite being the puppet, he wanted her and only her, then she needed to do everything in her power to resist him in order to save him.

“Shit, shit, it's running out,” Bobby hissed, leaning to the side. He groaned and rubbed sweat off his brow, which was only replaced by twice as many droplets.

“You need to drop that,” Chloe ordered. She wondered why the others had not returned. She knew they had minutes remaining, but their verbosity should have attracted their attention.

“I can't. You need it,” Bobby groaned, pinching the zipper only to cry out, the digits spasming, the muscles in his arms quivering. He struggled to hold on to the backpack. The strap continued sliding against the liquid coating his palm, his face growing darker by the second, frustration pooling in his eyes.

“Drop it! It's hurting you! I trust that you can!” she urged, clasping her hands together.

“Shut up! Just-just stop! You're distracting me!” He screwed his eyes shut and gnashed his teeth between the zipper again. Like a beast tearing meat off a freshly killed carcass, he jerked his head to the side, teeth clenched between his sharp incisors.

She shook her head, the display evoking a guttural repulsion within her. He was truly an animal, an untamed beast. Chloe glanced at the door, fearing the worst case scenarios bubbling in the back of her mind.

His leg gave out, and he fell in the blink of an eye. The backpack slumped by him, his left hand pawing the zipper. Its luminescence never faded, even while the life in Bobby's face did. He struggled like he was on his last breath, his limbs slackening, his head hunching at a tilted angle, weakly sputtering as blood and saliva passed over his lips.

Her hearts ached at the sight. The untamed beast became the prey. She crouched closer to him, hints of purple spirals dancing in her vision. She kept her hands visible, ensuring him that she was not going to harm him.

“Bobby, Bobby, there is something wrong with you. You're-you're-!”

Something flashed in his expression. His right leg thrust forward, and he cried out, flinging himself to sit up as he clawed his knee. As Chloe stared, she watched the fabric darken, oozing with blood. The more she looked, the more wounds seemed to simply appear on his body as she crawled closer, the violet spirals intensifying, the backpack luring her to him.

Pink blood darkened until it was nearly black on his clothing. Rich with copper, the scent churned her stomach so gravely she nearly vomited. Even her own muscles started to twitch, matching his convulsions.

“Where the hell are the others?” she whispered, leering at the door. “We need help. I need to help you. I need to-”

Bobby snatched her collar and pinned her in place, his hand clutching her neck. He had never put his hands on her before. Fear swelled within her, drying her mouth, the ringing drumming in her head.

“Sorry, I'm sorry, but you're not giving me a choice,” he crooned, gashes along his stomach, visible through the tearing of his sweater. “That bitch, she got me too good. I mean, she got you, too, but she-”

“Let me go,” she breathed out.

Regret made his teeth clench, and he shook his head. “You gotta see it all f-for what it really is 'cause it's not gonna last forever. I had to-I had to-I had to use too much of it when I fought her. I didn't know, uh, how strong she was.” His voice cracked. “Oh, God, I didn't know how badly she got you. I'm sorry.”

Insanity took the wheel. He refused to clarify anything despite her demanding answers. He focused on the backpack, fingers slipping off the zipper and landing on the pouches. He kept moaning that they were running out of time, and he yanked her towards him, her brain pounding with such agony she thought it would combust in chunks of skull shards and pinkish gray matter.

“Let go, let go!” she shrieked, flailing in place. She shoved at his arm, but it was immovable.

Bobby flinched, gasping. “Stop! Stop moving! You're gonna tear it open!”

She resisted him with all her might. Something wet oozed on her stomach. “Tear what open?”

He looped his arm around her neck and fell into her. The backpack rolled to their side close to her head and intensified the screaming in her head. He placed his palms to her ears, thumbs grazing her cheeks, which felt rugged, a stark contrast to their natural smoothness much to her terror. Had he already infected her with whatever ailed him?

“Trust me,” he whispered, breath hot on her nose. His blood splattered on her brow. “I'm doing-I'm doing all this for y-you.”

She wished she was taller. She wished she could struggle as his elbow pushed down on her clavicle. She wished he would explain himself. She wished she never sent him home.

Any trust he claimed they had was shattered as he cupped her face and gripped the zipper. The relief on his face disgusted her, the shaky smile, the dilated pupils. He apologized again and again like a broken record.

Chloe chomped on his thumb, and a crack filled her ears. Eyes at their widest point, he yowled like a dying cat. She jerked forward, ramming her knuckles into his chin and jutting his jaw upwards. She propelled him off her, another sickening crack doing more damage to her eardrums than the knelling.

Bobby slammed into the ground, his shoulder uttering one final crack. His movements ceased. He simply breathed, pupils large, mouth agape. Looking at her like she was a killer, he remained on his side, the backpack's glow dwindling.

“You hit me?” he whimpered. The blood cascading down his tongue slurred his words.

A chip formed in his front teeth from her punch. Chloe did not linger too long to observe the depths of his new injury. She scurried to her feet and distanced herself from the backpack, her vision returning to normal, and she heard only his raspy breathing.

“You hit me,” he moaned again, tears welling in his eyes.

Guilt gnawed at her. He was like an injured puppy looking up at its master wondering what it did wrong to be mistreated. She peered at her knuckles and sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

Black scabs dotted her hands. They crusted around the edges of her fingernails and spread upwards, her orange skin a few hues too light. Running her other hand along the wounds, she recoiled, realizing her other hand also suffered the same injury. Picking at them renewed the blood that had already shed to slither in thin streams down her fingers.

She willed herself to inspect her clothing. Her jumpsuit was matted in moisture, decaying by the second. Dampness emanated off it, the stench more pungent than Bobby's. Copper entered her nostrils and remained in her like an odor in a coffin, tickling her squirming insides. Pain pulsed along her back and arms, and she dragged her right sleeve up, stricken silent over the deep, dark bruises lining all the way up to her shoulder. Acknowledging the dull aches underneath her clothes, she knew more existed.

“What have you done to me?” she shouted at him as he struggled to stand, clutching the backpack to his chest.

“Nothing,” he whined in a voice that heightened her anger.

“Yes! Yes, you did!”

“I didn't! Ow!” He snatched his belly. “Stop fucking blaming me!” he snarled, the backpack slipping from his hands. He missed it, and it landed on his boots.

“Whatever the Fathians have done to you, I don't care! You claim this is all a lie, you claim that you can help, but what have you really done?” she seethed, the yellow and orange walls too bright, blinding her. “You come on my ship and assault me, and you have the nerve to-!”

“Shut up!” he wailed, breathing through the spaces of his teeth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Just shut your fucking mouth for a minute! How come-? Agh, fuck, fuck!” He doubled over, groping his stomach, head jerking back and forth. A green tint paled his face, and his cheeks pushed outwards. He cupped his mouth and forced his head back, swallowing whatever nausea had come over him, but clear fluid still slithered down his chin.

“You need help, and I can't give you it anymore,” Chloe whispered, shaking her head. She stepped away from him towards JT's workstation. “I'm calling the others. I'm calling them right now.”

He stared at her while she worked. She snatched the round communicator by JT’s guns and pressed the largest red button. It connected instantly to everyone, and she rapidly spoke into it, explaining what had happened in excruciating detail. No one interrupted her.

When she hung up, she gulped and gazed at him. He gawked right back. He aimed a trembling finger at her and mouthed something she could not understand. She touched her face and flicked off the residue.

Foam lined the corners of her lips. White with hints of gray, it reminded her of soap bubbles. Stunned, she merely watched it mix with the blood down her index finger.

“Oh, God, oh, no. Please tell me I'm not too late,” he muttered. He pressed hard on his temples, the bumpers on his glasses falling off and causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

“What's happening to me?” she asked, devoid of any emotion.

The room swirled in violet and sunshine yellow and orange. She felt like she was swimming, doing a backstroke on gentle waves. The rays massaged her skin and seeped into her, the thrumming of her head and hearts arrhythmically out of sync with her pumping lungs, the pain so dull it could almost be pleasurable.

She rocked into a wall. Her shoulder and head pressed into it, rocks grinding against her bare skin. The fabric of her jumpsuit shredded further, and she continued swaying, her eyes unfocused.

He smashed his fists into his temples, blood and sweat spraying, as he screamed, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fucking shit! What is it? What fucking fixes this shitshow?” He raked through his hair, tearing tresses straight from their roots, sweat dripping from his brow, blood leaking from his nostrils and staining his teeth. “What is it? Fuck! What is it, what is it, what is it, what is it, what is it, what is it? Goddamnit, fucking assholes, that son of bitch doing this to you!”

He chanted his confusion to the ceiling, and tears pricked the corners of Chloe's eyes. Sickness and injuries controlled him, broke him. It was like watching a rodent struggle underneath the claw of a hawk, eyes shiny, shrieks shrill, limbs flailing. She had no inclination to go near him.

“I should've killed that bitch! I should've maimed her! Oh, I should've-! I should've-!” He broke off as blood spurted from his mouth, silencing him. He dropped his arms, his hands smacking his thighs. Hollowness reflected nothing in his eyes. “Then, then, then you'd be okay. You'd be okay, and...and we could go home.” A different wetness trickled down his face. Clear, shining tears rolled through smeared blood smattered on his cheeks and chin. “I wanna go home, Chloe. I wanna go home with you. Please, please...” He closed his eyes, his tall frame breaking under a weight she could not understand, and he pressed his palms over his face, distorting his cracked glasses. “Please, oh, fuck, please, let's go home.”

She stared at the display with abject apathy. Chloe tilted her head, yellows and oranges staining her vision and warping him. He appeared like a mirage, someone who only served as a distraction.

What he had done to her was beyond salvaging. Betraying her trust, pinning her down, refusing her questions, it was his fault. He deserved to cry. For his own ineptitude and wretchedness, it was a long time coming for him to face the facts that he needed help.

“I'm sorry!” he cried through snot and tears, voice pitching with emotion. “I didn't-I didn't mean to hurt you! I just wanted to help you! 'Cause you're not okay, you're not okay.” He repeated his sorrow, breathing growing ragged, a small puddle of blood beginning to form underneath him. “I can't-I can't-I gotta-gotta-gotta...a-aah...”

Bobby clutched his mouth, cheeks bulging again. This time, he could not hold it down and retched clear and scarlet fluid. Not a single bit of food was present in the slop. It was only stomach acid and blood. He shuddered, seemingly horrified, as he stomach groaned, and he looked at her with eyes begging for forgiveness.

The sight was like a slap to her face. Something kicked in within her, forcing her to acknowledge him. He was suffering, and she was blaming him for it. He was afflicted, and she had left him to decompose in his own filth. Any enmity flew out the door, and she pushed off against the wall, her legs wobbling, her gait becoming more like his.

“What am I doing?” she shrieked, spearing herself with her own disgust and hatred. “Bobby!”

She broke from logic as he bawled. She braved the ringing and stormed through the colors and noise. Kneeling, Chloe reached for his face, even when every atom inside of her screamed at her to reconsider the gravity of his condition.

And he snatched her wrists and dragged her into him. His fingers roamed her back, pressing into the ridges of her spine, fastening her face in place against his chest when he dug his thumb into her neck. She inhaled rust and rot, her cheeks slimy against her drenched sweater, her mind flooding with panic and sensory overload, the swirling violet colors and his visage invoking a throbbing unlike anything she ever felt thundering in her brain.

“Just-just stay still, and it'll be all over,” he hoarsely crooned, one hand reaching for his tattered backpack. “I gotta give you a dose. I promise it won't hurt. Just enough to get you thinkin' straight.”

“You're not-you're the one not thinking straight,” she blurted, snatching his face. She sunk in her fingernails enough to draw pinpricks of blood that neither felt. “Look at yourself!”

“It's you,” he groaned, “It's always been for you.”

The zipper tugged up a sliver, purple light slithering onto them, and it was enough for a scream to rip free past her chapped lips. She scrambled away from him, using every sore, sliced muscle in her body to fight. She kicked and punched and threw herself at the floor, uprooting gravel that plunged through the violet mist blinding her.

“Look! See? See? It's all wrong! If you would just trust me-!” He snatched her ankle, but she thrust her leg free.

“You haven't given me a single reason to trust you! Listen to yourself! You sound exactly like a Fathian!” She slid faster, dirt and grass smearing into her sweater, the odor pungent with earthy residue. She yelped, noticing the bloody trail she left behind as he crawled after her. “You need help, and it's more than I can give! Just-just look at this! Look at what you did!” She snatched the wall, metal shearing away in place of cobblestone and rocks, her perfect spaceship collapsing around her. Dragging herself up, she twisted her head around, watching as everything she crafted fell into black pits all around them, twinkling stars blinking in and out. A chill washed over her, her hearts threatening to burst with how quickly they beat in synchronized fury. She pressed her shoulder into the wall, narrowing her eyes on the man she once trusted more than any creature in the galaxies. “Let someone else put in the effort to fix you. I'm done with you.”

Shock softened him. The tears returned but dried in the corners of his eyes. As quickly as his horror came, malice twisted him like Chloe anticipated. Nothing changed, nothing changed.

Rage distorted his expression, upper gums and lips stained deep red. “Fuck you! Fuck! You!” he roared like a dying beast, bashing his fists on the floor. “I don't need help! You do! You're the one-!”

“No, you're the one who ruined everything!” Chloe snapped, and she rammed her heel into his brow, forcing his back. “How can you say that I need help when you've brought some contamination on my ship and made it all fall to pieces?” Gravity increased, weighing down on her, threatening to break her spine. Sirens wailed all around her. “You have been refusing help all your life. For you to insinuate that I am the one in need of aid-” He flinched like a kicked dog, her blow hitting below the belt, but she continued. “-just shows me that the work I put in to helping you was a wasted effort.”

“That's low. That's fucking low,” he moaned, teeth chattering. He slipped on his sweaty palms, chin hitting the ground and jutting his jaw forward. “I-I tried, I really tr-tried, but you won't give me a damn inch.”

The spaceship warped between rock and metal, between grass and carpet. Her mind pounded, a sea of yellow and violet roses blooming all around her. She rocked from side to side, her head rolling. Bobby shouted something at her, but the pain heightened, burning through her senses, filling her with nothing but noise, noise, nose.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she screamed and fell to her knees. Metal and workstations flung into space. Tree roots raced the dirt. Dried, rustic gashes splintered through her uniform and crusted onto her face, and agony burned every inch of her body.

“Make it stop! Make it stop, Bobby!” she screamed, unable to even cry.

He flung himself at her, slipped on his own blood, and tore through the zipper. He snatched whatever it was in the backpack and smashed it into her chest, overwhelming her with violet lightning and gas. Losing his balance, his face crunched into the ground. His glasses, both lenses shattered, drifted in a bloody rivulet.

Something sharp and jagged was in her hands when she managed to pry her eyelids apart. It was like a fragment of cylindrical glass. It puffed with violet mist. When it once proudly glimmered like a diamond, fogginess reflected on its exterior.

“Oh,” she whispered.

She looked up and saw her spaceship for what it was.

An underground cell encrusted with golden psilirium in the walls faced her. Everywhere she turned was her own mangled reflection within the impacted psilirium shards. Dried blood and bruises adorned her body. Long gashes through her Psychonauts uniform healed over in thick, nearly black scabs. Her lower lip was bruised, hints of foam still lingering in the corners of her mouth. Her hair, once curly, was matted with dirt, gravel, and blood. Her right eye was blacker than the night sky she adored watching with him.

It all hit her at once. Memories of the truth ripped free from the once sealed crevices of her mind and incited an eruption of despair throughout her.

Five days ago, she had been deployed to stop a psilirium fracking operation in Minnesota. Everything had gone smoothly until the woman behind the operation realized Chloe had infiltrated two days into the mission. She was a criminal mastermind named Geneva Witherspoon, who sent her enemies to the gallows in her psilirium mines. They had battled with Chloe giving it her all, but with the vast quantity of psilirium on Geneva's side, her mind eventually sank into a delusion.

She had been trapped in the psilirium cell without food, water, or clarity. Without any idea what she was really doing, the notion horrified her. What had she done in those three days? What was she really doing? Simply walking around her cell, talking to herself and indulging in a blissful illusion empowered by the psilirium?

What did she say to Bobby? What really happened between them with her mind so addled?

She dropped to her knees upon remembering him. He did not move a muscle. Only the raspy, weary breaths sputtering out of him confirmed he was still alive. She could hardly move her jaw to speak. She clutched his shoulder, but he shrieked, and she sensed his pain, the agony filling her shoulder as well.

“Outside,” he groaned, rolling to his side. “Gotta get outside be-before it's all used up.”

The psitanium shard was quickly losing power. She nodded and held his other hand. Her legs refused to cooperate, and she toppled in front of him, pulling him down when she tried helping him stand. They gasped, the shard's light flickering in and out, and she realized what he had been trying to do all along.

“I'm sorry for what I-”

“N-not now,” Bobby hissed as he crawled past her. “Just move. No time left.”

She listened to him. With what little power she mustered, she followed him to the door. She watched him smack his hand on it, the double doors really half-broken wooden slats. They gave way without a fight. He hauled himself out and pivoted on his bottom. He reached out for her, Chloe watching the muscles in his arm convulse, and she grabbed his hand, letting him drag her out of the nightmare.

They sat in their tattered, bloodied clothing. Their hair was matted to their scalps and foreheads. Bobby squinted at her, and she inspected his face. Broken, crooked nose, one eye twitching more than the other, front teeth chipped in half (because of her), his entire body smelling like a carcass, and more fresh wounds than scars on his frame, he was the picture perfect image of death.

“Your team is here to help,” Bobby said, averting her gaze.

With a twitch of her head, she asked, “My what?”

“You're not stupid. Solve that mystery yourself,” he growled, and he leaned into one of the many metal poles in the underground hallway.

Torches plunged into the earth lit the hallway. Shadows danced on them and illuminated the resentment in the creases of his face. Chloe pulled away, stricken for words.

“I know I said...I know I said several awful things, but I didn't mean them.”

“Sure you didn't.”

“Bobby, please, I wasn't in the right mind when I-”

“Just be quiet.”

She touched his forearm, her sniffling cutting through his hostility. He furrowed his brows, lips creasing into a thin line. She held her stomach, the growl echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. Bobby straightened his back, grunting and opening his arms. She took the offering with as much gratitude as she could show, placing her face to his chest and clutching his waist like he would disappear in a psilirium fit. He did not return her embrace.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she muttered, bruising his skin with how tightly she grasped him.

“I know,” he said. “Maybe we gotta work on you a little.” He paused, raising his limp left arm and tossing it around her waist. “We-we both fucked up pretty bad today. Nothing we can do, uh, about it.”

She wanted to retort, but her stomach ached for nourishment. She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. His lips trembled, his eyelids developing rings of moisture around them. Another choked sob escaped him, and she sensed the pain slicing through his body, all caused by her extra weight on his lacerations, but he refused to let her go, tightening his grip on the threads of her sweater.

Voices interrupted any chance for communication. First came Lili shouting orders. Followed by JT's PSI blasts, debris blasted down the hall, forcing them to duck their heads together. Dirt caked their bloody, ashen bodies. It rained dust and psilirium particles with a tornado’s force. 

When the noise stopped, Chloe raised her head. She looked up, two familiar faces leered down at them, surveying the extent of their wounds.

Milka looped her arms around Chloe and helped her stand. Mikhail simply raised Bobby in his telekinetic grip, his usual countenance replaced with stark worry. He examined Bobby all over, mumbling his long list of injuries to himself. From his coat pocket, he retrieved a coiled strip of bandages and went to work applying tourniquets to Bobby's wounds. Mikhail stated that he would still need to see a professional as soon as they returned to headquarters. For once, Bobby did not argue with him.

“We're going to take you home,” Milka promised, the sea salt scent of her perfume calming Chloe.

That was all he wanted to do with her, too. As JT and Lili approached, Geneva hogtied in the former's lasso and a PSI lock fastened to her head, Chloe wished she could rewind time when Bobby massaged his teeth.


End file.
